


PLAYERNAME

by kr4k3n



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Confessions, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, M/M, Meta, Monologue, Mutual Pining, Pining, Prison, Secrets, Tension, The End Poem, i cannot stress how meta this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:33:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kr4k3n/pseuds/kr4k3n
Summary: “You’re a monster,” George says, without malice.“I never had the chance to be anything else.” Dream replies.george visits dream in prison. dream shows george the reality of it all.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 181





	PLAYERNAME

“Fuck you,” George spits.

Dream is sitting in the corner of the cell, knees brought up to his chest, fingers drumming on the cold obsidian floor. His hair is long now—it’s nearly to his shoulders and all tangled together.

“You don’t really mean that, do you, George?” Dream says quietly.

George steps away from the heat of the lava behind him, closer to Dream. “You know me too well,” he says, bitterly. 

“Guess you didn’t know me well enough,” Dream gives him a little smile. 

George winces. “I think you’ve lost sight of yourself.”

“I think I’ve found myself,” Dream says, that familiar glint in his eyes. “I’m a god, George. I can bring anyone I want back to life. They are born and then they live and then they die, all under my hands. It’s like-” he gestures around aimlessly, grasping, before continuing, “a fruit fly. That’s what they are. One press of my shoe and they’re a bloody mess on the floor, and then I can pull them out of death and into my grasp again. Again and again and again.”

“Did you like it?” George asks, stepping closer, “When you killed Tommy, when you brought him back, did you like it?”

“No. George, I didn’t like it. But it had to be done.” Dream shrugs, like he’s discussing a game of cards. 

“I think you did,” George steps closer, until he’s standing over Dream and Dream has to crane his neck to look him in the eyes, “I think you liked it, Dream.” 

Dream’s gaze flickers towards the lava, “Maybe you know me better than I thought.” He leans his head back, and their eyes meet again. 

“Be a god with me, George.” 

George pauses. Dream reaches up, grabs his wrists, pulls him down so George is practically in his lap. George has to brace himself using one hand on the wall so he doesn’t fall over. 

Their faces are too close. George can see every half-healed scar, can see Dream’s wild eyes, can see his desperation. 

“I thought you didn’t want attachments,” George murmurs. 

“You see, I thought I didn’t,” Dream says, slowly, “but I just can’t get rid of you.”

“But you could get rid of Sapnap?” The name seems to sting Dream, and he recoils a little. 

“Sapnap doesn’t understand.” Dream says, after a pause. “But I think you could. I want to take you with me.”

“You’ll burn this server to the ground before you give up, won’t you?” George says, softly. 

“And you can stand in the ashes with me.” Dream replies. “When everything ends, it’ll just be us. Together.” 

And George doesn’t want to feel tempted. He wants to walk out of the prison and go back to the mushrooms and the flowers and the sunlight and his friends. 

But he feels so horribly, fatefully intertwined with Dream. 

Before he can collect his thoughts, Dream starts to speak. When George looks back, his eyes are a little unfocused. He’s looking somewhere else. 

“I dream of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. I dream that I created. And I dream I destroyed. I dream I hunted, and was hunted.”

George tilts his head. This doesn’t sound like Dream. Before he can say something, Dream seems to pull himself back. His jaw is clenched. 

“Sometimes I hear things, George.”

George wrenches his wrists from Dream’s grasp, and once his hands are free, he intertwines his fingers with Dream’s, in a desperate attempt to ground them both. 

“I hear words I don’t understand, and thoughts worm their way into my brain, and they’re my thoughts, but they’re so wrong.” he takes a shuddering breath. “It’s a game,” he says, despairingly. He looks into George’s eyes like there’s supposed to be some sort of revelation. 

George sighs. He doesn’t remember what he hoped to gain from this visit. 

“It’s not a game, Dream, how many times do we have to tell you?” he says, face flushing with anger. “This is the problem—you don’t think you’ll have consequences.”

Dream groans a little, like George is missing something. “Zeros and ones and zeros and ones,” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself. “Everything unravels and all that’s left is the zeros and the ones.”

“You’re not making any sense,” George digs his nails into Dreams’ skin, leaving behind angry red marks. “All this talk about gods and games. It’s like you’ve forgotten how this began,” he takes a single, shaky breath, “with you and me and a seed of hope.”

Dream’s head jerks up in recognition at the word seed, then his eyes darken as he sees only confusion in George’s.

“Seed,” he says, quietly, “that is how it all began. A seed.”

They’re saying the same words, but George can tell they both mean something vastly different.

Suddenly, Dream asks, “George, do you know what the End is?”

“I know what the word means,” George says, insulted, “I know what an ending is, Dream. And I’m beginning to think this might be ours.”

Dream snakes a hand around the back of George's neck. He pulls him closer, but he’s not looking at George’s face, but behind him, towards the lava. George realizes he’s making sure no one is listening. The act is pointless. The cell is so lonely. Isolated. Even if Sam’s nametag is floating behind the wall of lava, the Elder Guardian’s dull cry would drown out whatever Dream is about to say. 

“It’s so, so dark.” Dream whispers, voice breaking a little, “and cold. Crawling with endermen. The dragon—” he chokes, “it’s eyes are so blank. Sometimes I fall asleep and I dream of the purple fire it breathes.”

“You aren’t making any sense,” George reaches a hand down and pushes Dream’s hair out of his face. He flinches as it reveals an ugly scar stretching across his temples. The skin around it is a sick shade of purple and red, and it looks like it was healed and then torn open again.

When he looks back down, Dream’s crying silently. Tears streak his face, his cheeks shining. 

“Oh,” George says quietly. He can’t quite understand, but he pries Dream’s hands from his and uses his newly freed hands to hold Dream’s face, tilting it upwards so they meet eyes. His face feels feverish. Hot.

“You’re a monster,” he says, without malice. 

“I never had the chance to be anything else.” Dream replies. There’s an exhaustion to his words. 

George takes a thumb and wipes the tears off of Dream’s cheeks. It’s all he can do, now. 

“I love you,” Dream says, suddenly.

“I know,” George says. 

“You’ve played the game well,” Dream says, tiredly.

“There is no game, Dream.” 

“Everything you need is within you.” It’s beginning to sound like Dream is reciting something, so George doesn’t respond, and Dream continues, “you are stronger than you know.”

George doesn’t want to be strong. He was strong as he walked to the prison, as he greeted Sam, as he walked across the bridge above the lava. 

“You’re the daylight,” Dream reaches out, clinging onto George’s shoulders. Anchoring himself. It’s like if he isn’t holding on to George, he’ll be swept away. “You’re the night.”

“Well, that’s contradictory,” George gives a weak laugh. It’s humorless. 

“The darkness you fight is within you,” Dream moves a hand—it’s shaking, George notices—to George’s chest and presses his palm against his heart.

George is painfully aware that Dream can feel every thump as he speaks again, “The light you seek is within you.”  
George doesn’t feel particularly light or dark right now. Just empty. 

“You aren’t alone,” Dream’s hand slides to one of his, still cupping Dream’s face, and gently pulls it away. Their fingers tangle together until George isn’t sure where he stops and Dream begins. “You aren’t separate from every other thing.”

Right now it feels like the only other thing to exist is Dream. They’re entwined, one single messy thing. 

George has to strain to hear Dream as he says, so softly, “you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code.”

George’s first thought is that he doesn’t know what code is. His second is maybe he does. His third thought, and his last one, is that he really should have noticed the finality Dream has been speaking with. 

“I love you,” Dream is crying again, and George squeezes his hand tightly, except maybe he’s squeezing his own, maybe they are one, have always been one, “because you are love.”

There’s a sudden, blinding light, and a silence.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic makes a lot more sense if you've read the end poem so if you haven't!! go read it :)
> 
> thanks for reading and as always, kudos + comments are very much appreciated.


End file.
